Harry Potter and the Durmstrang Deception
by pike007
Summary: What do you get when you cross a couple of Aurors and their wives; the DA; Neville Longbottom, working for a secret organisation; an ancient school of Dark Magic and Someone with a grudge?  The answer? Harry Potter and the Durmstrang Deception
1. The School

**Disclaimer: It's not mine! I wish it was, but its not.**

**Summary: What do you get when you cross a couple of Aurors and their wives; the DA; Neville Longbottom, working for a secret ****organisation****; an ancient school of Dark Magic and Someone with a grudge?**

**The answer? Harry Potter and the Durmstrang Deception**

**Nine years after the Battle of Hogwarts and all Harry and Ron want is to settle down with their wives, Ginny and Hermione. But as Harry is chief Auror and Ron as his deputy, will they ever get what they want? No.**

**When Harry gets a call to investigate a disturbance at a long-closed school, things get out of hand.**

**With Voldemort gone, what is this new threat which Harry and his friends, and half of the DA have to contend with?**

**The Durmstrang Deception.**

Chapter 1

The School

High in the mountains of Bulgaria, just to the West of Sandanski, stands a school of magic. A school imbued with an ancient evil so strong, that Voldemort himself cowered away from its strong stone walls, and many turrets. The school has many names, many of which are forgotten, few of which are spoken, and all of which translate to mean "Fear".

Picture the worst castle fortification imaginable; this school is ten times worse. The stones from which it is made seem to attract the darkness. Protected by only the most malicious of Anti-Muggle curses, the sight of it makes most mad. At night, the echoes of long dead screams reverberate around its halls; for that is part of the magic.

Once upon a time, in the Middle Ages, the school had a reputation for mindless, needless violence. Practices of Kill or be Killed: students killed teachers and in turn, became teachers, only to be killed by students.

As time wore on, those practices died, leaving a place seeped in evil. Students were taught there, until recently. But not anymore- the murder of the headmaster saw to that. At one time in history, it was a great triumph to kill a teacher, but gradually, the school had become weaker, kinder. Then the school closed.

Many myths still surround the school, and few dare to speak its name. "Durmstrang" strikes fear into the bravest of hearts-

If the school was closed, what were those flashes of wand-light, screams of pain and bursts of melodic laughter doing, issuing from within the castle walls?

**x x x x x x**

A blustery Monday morning found Harry Potter and Ron Weasley in the Auror Headquarters headed for a meeting. As a general rule in the office, meetings were kept to a minimum, but this one was important.

Harry Potter scowled as he entered the building, which had been aged by winds and graffiti of many centuries. The gold statue of the Artemisia Lufkin, the first Minister of Magic, however, stayed as untouched and clean as ever. The inside was just as badly kept, with piles of paper littering every desktop, carpets covered in Droobles Best Blowing Gum, and dustbins belching up pencil shavings. The once worshipped prospect of working here had lost all its glamour.

"Good Morning, Harry," a man called out, as Harry strode down the corridor between the desks.

"Hey, Mark! You finished that report on the Chrysler murders yet?"

"Working on it!"

"Well get a move on, then. Sometimes I think Scotland Yard could do a better job." The gentle rebuke from the highest ranking Magical Law Enforcement official was all that was needed to drive everyone into work-mode.

Smiling to himself, Harry collected some papers off his desk. He had been working on the case that the meeting concerned for many months now, and was pretty confident that he would completely nail the Aurors with his inside scoop.

The meeting was to be held in one of the bigger meeting rooms, in the main ministry buildings. Kingsley had insisted that the Aurors would get their own special building in a more central part of London, which made getting to meetings held in the actual ministry rather difficult, especially with the new anti-Apparation wards that had been put around the place as a safety measure.

Fashionably late to the meeting, Harry strode in flustered.

"Right, sorry, everyone," he muttered, before announcing more loudly, "This meeting is called to order!"

A communal groan ran through the group, as they put down their doughnuts and eager gossips, and turned to face Harry.

"Does anyone have any leads on this whole Durmstrang business?"

"I dunno what it is," said a young Auror-in-training, "but something's not right in that place. It gives me the heebie-jeebies just thinking about it." He shuddered.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Any real leads? No? Nothing?"

Norman Spavin, a balding Auror pushed forward a sheaf of paper.

Harry picked it up. "What have we here, Spavin?"

"Well, a few fishermen were fishing in the lake just off the Milliken Cliff at daybreak. They saw a man in blue robes come out of the Rangdek woods," said Spavin, as if it made everything quite clear.

"And... what's that's supposed to mean?"

Spavin looked apalled. "_The fishermen saw a man coming out of the woods_," he stated again.

"So? I bet he was a Muggle woodcutter. They often chop woods from that forest."

"Yes, but... Well, I think it's a very important lead on the investigation," he said decidedly.

Harry didn't even want to argue his point. He dejectedly asked, "Anyone else?"

The Aurors shook their heads. "Terrible. Well, luckily for you, I have been collecting information for months now."

A murmur of approval, and awed hush greeted this announcement. Very rarely did any Auror do successful research projects on their own investigation.

"So what's going on, Harry?" asked Ron perplexedly. "We've been working on this case night and day, and nothing! How did _you_ find anything?"

"That's for me to know, and you to find out," Harry responded childishly. "Okay, here's what I know: Someone is recruiting an army. I reckon they're using Durmstrang as some kind of…well, to be honest, I don't know. But it's something to do with this guy."

"Great research," said an old looking Auror from the corner. Harry ignored the obvious sarcasm. He was suddenly feeling a little red in the cheeks for being rude with Spavin- his own research, which had seemed so obviously brilliant even an hour ago, sounded incredibly patchy now.

"Well, of course we need more information, but we know what to dig into. We have to search the villages around Durmstrang to see if anyone has come to recruit."

Ron eyed him testily. "Are you sure you have foolproof information. I mean, someone can hire an army for an army of reasons. We don't want to get tangled in another case."

"Well, if you are so sure, why don't you have a report?" snapped Harry.

Ron raised his hands up, palm outward in surrender. "Just saying, mate. You said we could use some insights, didn't you?"

"I don't need insights; I need on-field investigation."

"Alright, we'll send out some of the Aurors."

The meeting concluded and several squads of Aurors were immediately dispatched to Durmstrang Institute of Magic.

Harry scribbled through the reports of some street muggings and such trivialties, when a blast of smoke erupted from the fireplace. Oh, dang! Who was using so much Floo?

He stood up coughing, and tried to bat and blow away some smoke from his eyes, when he tripped on something. He staggered to his knees and crouched down.

Harry felt his stomach do a nasty flip, and the meatloaf he had eaten threaten to spill out of his mouth. It was Cranley, the young understudy who had begged to be on the team to Durmstrang.

He lay in the pool of his own blood, his face scarred almost beyong recognition. Harry pressed his lips together as his eyes found the deep gash in Cranley's left leg, where very little flesh was clinging to his bone.

"Wh- What happened?"

"They're- not coming," choked Cranley, and Harry could see even the effort of talking was a monumentous task for Cranley. Harry tried to hoist Cranley to the couch, but it only caused more pain. Harry sent a Patronus to the emergency medical department, as he held the shaking man.

But even before the silver stag swooshed out of sight, Cranley went still, his hand slid from Harry's grip. Harry sat hunched beside him- he couldn't believe the young, happy face of Cranley would never light up with excitement the moment someone mentioned a new mission.

**x x x x x x**

Bedaube Slumlord, Bulgarian Minister for Magic, couldn't sleep.

It wasn't the scratchy sheets of the rundown inn in the mountains of Sandanski that were keeping him awake. Or the rowdy crowd downstairs at the bar; he'd sorted that issue by silencing the room. It wasn't even the lonely night he was about to face without his wife.

No. It was something else.

As Slumlord drifted into an uneasy slumber, something dark and flowing slipped beneath the door. It crawled up the bed and slowly swallowed the minister.

The Lethifold exited the room as silently as it had entered. It left not a trace of its being there, the old minister might have just upped and left.

Its work done, and its hunger satisfied, the Lethifold returned to its master.

**Authors notes:**

This is my first attempt at a story and its not even mine! I'm co-writing it with greencyanide, so a big shout out for Sanjana.

Please review, flames welcome. And 10 points to the first reviewer to work out the anagram in the ministers name.

Thanks


	2. The Wand

**Disclaimer: It's not mine! I wish it was, but its not.**

Chapter 2

The Wand

Harry held the pinch of Floo powder in his hand, but he just couldn't force his hand to throw it into the fireplace. A bag containing the Cranley's family-crest bearing ring, a framed photo of him and his girlfriend and some personal documents was clutched in his other hands. It was in times like these, Harry detested being the head of the Auror Department. He dreaded returning someone's belongings to his parents or wife or children. Harry knew he would never get used to the expressionless faces of the dear and loved ones of the victims- coping with those who tried to curse his head off was easier, he could understand their anger. But the passive acceptance just tore him apart; as if their share of grief was unintentionally passed on to him.

"You gotta get a move on, Harry," said Ron, soberly. Harry just nodded, before throwing the powder into the flames.

"Cranley residence, Edinburgh!" he shouted into the green flames.

**x x x x x x**

Harry sat on the couch, while Mrs. Cranley poured tea in a cup, with deliberate slowness. Harry could see slight tremors in her hand, while Mr. Cranley sat stolid opposite him with his penetrating gaze on Harry.

"Would you like cream or lemon with that, Mr. Potter?" asked Mrs. Cranley, as if they were gathered for a nice little chat.

Harry nodded and swept a bead of sweat off his brow, desperate to not meet Mr. Cranley's eyes. He politely accepted the cup from Mrs. Cranley, who gave him a cheerful smile that didn't quite make it to her eyes.

Harry cleared his throat- the sooner he let it out, the better. He couldn't stand any more tension, and he was quite sure, neither could they.

"I have come to return some of the things that might be of a lot of value to you, Mr. and Mrs. Cranley," he started nervously, waiting for their reaction. When they showed none, or tried very hard to, he went on.

"We had to keep these for some time, for obvious safety reasons. I offer my sincere condolences," he said, handing over the bag.

Mrs. Cranley pried open the bag with shaking fingers, while Mr. Cranley looked like he was trying to vaporize Harry with his angry stare. Harry ducked his head down, looking at his feet.

Mrs. Cranley whimpered as she picked up young Cranley's photo- and suddenly, Harry understood how it must feel. He felt his eyes sting, as James' happy face flashed in front of him. He would never be able to sit and sift through his belongings, if the roles had been reversed.

He wished to get out of the house the very instant. He was about to ask permission to leave, when Mrs. Cranley asked, "Where is his wand?"

Harry looked confused at first- all of the victim's belongings were supposed to be returned after checking. Then he remembered, The Department of Mysteries had asked to keep the wand back.

"Mr. Potter, where is Stuart's wand?"

Mr. Cranley's forceful voice shook Harry- it seemed too powerful for his slight frame.

"Uh, it has been withheld by the Department of Mysteries."

Mr. Cranley looked fierce. "Mr. Potter, the Ministry has no right to keep back a personal property!"

"Please calm down, sir. We would return it as soon as possible."

"I don't want to wait, in fact, I don't _have_ to wait- it is clearly stated in Article 92 of Wizarding Laws and Regulations, that a victim's belongings must be delivered to his nearest relatives immediately after his demise, and only they can grant permission to the Ministry to further withholding of the articles."

Harry was startled that Mr. Cranley knew exactly what Article 92 stated. Mr. Cranley seemed to read his mind.

"I was a juror of Wizengamot," he stated blankly, "and please don't be belied by our humble home, Mr. Potter, I can afford go as far as file a case against the department to get the wand back."

Harry realized the situation was fast getting out of hand. "There's no need, sir , I assure you. I will talk to the head of the Department myself tonight. I will see to it that the wand is returned."

"I want it returned, before it is stripped by the wizards of The Department of Mysteries. I will not have the centuries-old wand of the great Ainsworth Cranley get vandalized!"

Harry's brows knotted in confusion. "Ainsworth Cranley... the great Potioneer? He was... your.."  
"Ancestor. And the possessor of the only wand made of the wood of a looking-glass tree, with a single hair of a baby elephant- specially made in Burma. The wand-maker died after finishing the wand- since then no other wand has been made from such combination. It is the most powerful kind of magic, and it stays in the family and passed to the next generation."

Harry wondered aloud, "Stuart was not married, as I knew, so I am sure, you are not in a hurry."

Mr. Cranley looked scathingly at Harry, who realized that he had been quite rude.

"He is survived by his girlfriend, who is expecting an heir to the Cranley family in some months," said Mrs. Cranley, who had been sobbing with Stuart Cranley's photo in hand.

When Harry finally reached his office, he did not know what he felt more- a bitter anger towards whoever killed Cranley or pity towards the baby who will grow up without a father.

**x x x x x x**

Harry rubbed his eyes with his fingers and replaced his glasses. Ignoring the pile of empty styrofoam cups scattered on one corner of his desk, he called for another cup of coffee.

He picked out another crumbling book and tried to focus his watering eyes on the yellowing pages. He had to read the first line seven times before he could understand- he was never good with the runes! He had to consult the Rune Dictionary every two minutes all evening, and it was wearing on him. He shut the book, exasperated. He would just sneak it out of the office and get Hermione to translate it.

"Your coffee, sir?"

Miranda Donovan, the youngest Auror-in-training stood at the doorway, holding a cup.

"Yes, thank you, Miranda," said Harry, beckoning her to place the cup on his table.

She walked smartly into the office and paused to see five Rune books strewn on the desktop. "Ah, Runes!" she said, with a mild interest.

Harry smiled. "If only I had your enthusiasm, Miranda."

"Oh, but it is only the best field of study!" she said, surprised at Harry's reply.

Harry rolled his eyes and laughed. "Oh really? Why didn't you join the archaeowizards in Egypt then?"

"Oh, everyone in my family is an Auror. It's sort of a family business. But even now, I study Runes books whenever I find time."

Harry got an idea. "Then you are the person I need, Miranda! Come over here, and translate these few pages for me, will you?" he asked, holding up a sheaf of parchments.

"Sure," responded Miranda, and sat down. In minutes, she was scribbling furiously on a spare parchment with her pencil and making quiet tutting sounds as she found the small notes Harry had jotted on the margin of the Runes parchment. Harry blushed and busied himself with another report.

It took a little over an hour for Miranda to finish the work. She was smiling wide- apparently very satisfied with her job- as she handed over the notes she had written.

Harry had to admit, she had done a brilliant job, far better than he could ever have managed. After dismissing her from the office and making a mental note of referring her to Blaque, whose assistant was being transferred to Argentina this year, Harry settled down with the notes over another cup of coffee.

He read the neat hadwriting.

_... The wand was made from the looking-glass tree. The tree with silvery leaves is said to possess magical powers in itself. The Indians believe the wood has healing powers... Rinzen, the wandmaker, was originally a resident of Zhiangpo, a small Tibetan village in the heart of the Himalayas. But he had been driven out of the country for his sporadic experiments with powerful, and sometimes dark magic. He fleed to Burma and started practising his magic in the forests of Sagaing... It is said he met Ainsworth Cranley when the latter visited the forests in search of the rare Bennisung flower. The great potioneer met Rinzen and the two decided to make an undefeatable wand...Rinzen took the heartwood from a dying tree, and sculpted into a wand. He put a baby-elephant's hair in it- the most powerful combination. Rinzen died the next day in his sleep, and Ainsworth returned to England with the wand... The wand was said to be missing for a few decades between 1870 and 1920, when it was recovered by Langston Stebbins, who graciously returned it to the Cranley family... Even today, the wand is passed down to the eldest son of the family._

Harry sat turning over the findings inside his head. Was it really that powerful a wand? Was it more powerful than the Elder Wand?

He decided to go over to the Department of Mysteries to find out what they were holding it for.

**x x x x x x**

"I am sorry, Mr. Potter, but if it has been withheld by us, there is a reason for it. And I cannot possibly tell you why," Sturgis Podmore declared smugly.

"But I am the head of the Auror Department! I have the right to know why my employee's properties are being held!" cried Harry.

"I am sure you are aware, Mr. Potter, that the Department of Mysteries has the full right to not summarize its jobs to everyone."

"Okay, if you have to be so stubborn, then you can go tell that to his father!"

"Being in Auror Department has its shortcomings, I suppose."

Harry fumed. This man was refusing to let him any information- on top of that he was insulting his department!

"Okay, let me talk to whoever has been assigned for the job!"

Sturgis looked coldly at him, but before he could refuse, Harry lowered his voice and hissed, "Listen, Sturgis. You can tell me his name or I can forget to look gobsmacked when the _Prophet_ hounds me with questions about the Felian Forgeries goof-up. Your choice…"

Harry stood back with a satisfied smirk, as Sturgis looked petrified and mumbled something about checking the register.

"Sorry, nothing in the register," said Sturgis, innocently.

Harry was not amused. "Quit playing games with me, Podmore. I want to know who took the GODDAMNED WAND!"

Apparently Harry's racket was not confined in Sturgis' room. Someone opened the door, and poked his head in, hissing a loud 'Shhh!'

It was Neville Longbottom, Harry's classmate, and an employee of The Department of Mysteries.

"What is the matter? Oh, Harry! Fancy seeing you here!"

"I wouldn't have had to come if your department didn't play around with my employee's personal belongings!" he snapped rather unkindly.

"No one is registered to have taken Stuart Cranley's wand!" protested Sturgis.

The name seemed to register in Neville, with some shock.

"Stuart Cranley?" he said with his eyes shifting from Harry to Sturgis. When both nodded, he looked at Harry, and then around him.

"Come with me, Harry."

In three minutes by Harry's count, he was sitting in Neville's office, facing him. Neville had lost more pounds off his body than was good for him, and he looked almost sick, with a bony figure, which did not suit him at all.

"Neville, look, I didn't mean to be a prick and bust in your business, but getting that wand is really important. You see Cranley's parents are wracked. If you could at least give me the reason, I could make them understand," said Harry, desperately.

Neville looked tired. "I am sorry, Harry. I had been sworn in, and I cannot let any information outside this department," he stated blankly.

Harry was frustrated. "Oh, come on man. For old time's sake! Why do you need it anyway? It's an Auror's wand, not a Death Eater's!"

"I know. But.. I am holding it, so I can... trace the magic that killed Cransley... and the others," said Neville, averting his eyes from Harry's.

_So he won't tell me,_ Harry thought, _he has to lie too?_

Harry knew it would serve him no good to deliberate with Neville. He obviously considered his job more important than helping Harry out of an awkward situtation. That it was very honest and responsible of him was another matter and Harry had had a nasty day to even consider it.

He stood up and left the office with a none-so-polite 'good night'.

At home, long after Ginny had gone to sleep and James, his son, was snoring lightly, Harry couldn't help but wonder why the Department, Neville, to be specific, was holding the wand without notifying anyone in his department.

**AN: Thanks to everyone who reveiwed! (All 2 of you)**


	3. Chapter 3

THIS STORY HAS BEEN ABANDONNED

Sorry to the (few) readers…

Free to a good home… anyone wants it? You can have it, just ask me first


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